


Looking Down the Barrel

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Hitman AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-24 04:57:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9703244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Alfred F. Jones was raised as a hitman all his life. Arthur E. Kirkland is an expert assassin. In the crossfire of a assassination attempt gone wrong, the hitman must be able to make a choice between a childhood friend and a complete stranger.Yao Wang is a simple employee of a nameless company. Ivan Braginsky is the son of a very famous businessman. When a sudden blackout happens, the two must team up in order to light a light in their dark pasts.





	

"Nice work, Mister Jones. I'll have to hire you again sometime." His employer said coolly, sliding him a nicely sized wad of cash and two bloody bullets, both carved with a heart in the middle.  _Alfred's rounds._ He said nothing, eyeing the man across the table with his deeply azure eyes, folding his hands impatiently under the desk as the man praised him for his efforts. "Honestly, I didn't believe that you were a real, truthful hitman! Those are simply works of fiction, at least, that's what I had assumed. Well done. You've taken out a rather difficult obstacle to overcome. Thank you." Alfred sighed and pocketed the cash, snapping his suspenders and pushing his chair back as he stood, the wood-on-wood contact arising an unpleasant screech from the bar floor.   
  
"No problem. That's my job after all. Give me a call, and maybe then I can get something done for you," Alfred said smoothly, shooting him a smile before leaving, pushing the door open and heading out into the crowded Chicago urban streets. Taxicab engines purred from every corner, colorful shopping bags flashing from every pedestrian area. One thing Alfred would never really get used to was the busy and rather loud city. He had lived virtually everywhere in the United States due to his parents' military backgrounds and his own occupation. The idea of people discovering his secret job was forbidden. Even the slightest bit of suspicion would lead to another move. But now, his parents were not around to guide him with his experiences. Running a hand through his dirty blonde hair, he padded around large throngs of people until he made it to an exiting freeway. Looking up, he straightened his glasses to find his apartment complex. It was easy to find apartments whilst moving, since one would need to look into the house before purchase. His Converse shoes made scratching noises along the concrete sidewalks as he sprinted, the cool air blowing across his face. The smell of gasoline and smoke hit him in the face, strong and hard. He coughed at first, stumbling, but he continued his pace along the street.  
  
Already a little tired, he climbed six flights of stairs before reaching his apartment, and you guessed it--the last room at the end of the corridor. He fished out his key and unlocked his door, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. Alfred took off his suspenders and undid his bow tie, tossing them into the laundry room. He kicked off his shoes and lined them up with the front door. Studying the bullets the man had returned to him, his expression grew dark. The reason he had those hearts carved into them was him, sending his love and connecting the victim with the person they loved. He had matching bullets as well, one painted a dark maroon and the other simply grooved and plain. The hitman sighed and rinsed them off in the sink. His phone chimed from the living room, and he left the two cylindrical pieces of metal soaking in the sink as he left to grab his cell. He slid across the flooring in his socks like Elvis, nearly crashing into the coffee table. Dusting himself off, he flicked through his lock screen, ending at a rather strange message notification.  
  
**@coding_green: Hello. Is there anyone here?**  
  
Frozen, he unlocked his mobile and sifted through some messages before responding. The app was a secure creation, used specifically for his...work...and was virtually unpenetrable. Strange, he would admit, but perhaps a potential employer?  _No. There hasn't been a message from anyone in at least five years._ He sighed and typed a quick response.  
  
**@no_one's_home: Hi. No, there's no one here. Go home.**  
  
Alfred turned to continue his work at the sink, but his mobile rang again. Strange.  
  
**@coding_green: I see that you have experience with lying.**  
  
At this, he snorted and snatched his phone from the couch arm.  
  
**@no_one's_home:**   **Uh! Excuse me! Who do you think you're talking to?**  
  
The icon for a pending reply popped up, three dots alternating a shade of grey and red. Alfred chewed on his lip and was about to leave the phone once more, but the reply was almost within thirty seconds.  
  
**@coding_green: Alfred Ferdinand Jones, aged twenty-five and owns an apartment in Chicago, Illinois. A hitman and a recent college graduate. Has a twin brother, Matthew Nathaniel Williams. C-section. Sounds about right?**  
  
His heart pounded in his chest as his fingers twitched over the on-screen keys.  
  
**@no_one's_home: How do you know this? Who are you?**  
  
The reply was hesitant, perhaps reluctant to deliver information.  
  
**@coding_green: You're pretty well known in the underground. Huh. Well done. I'm not asking for employments or victims. I wanted to touch base with another person in my field.**  
  
Alfred tilted his head at that.  
  
**@no_one's_home: Your field? Like, murder and assassination? Payment?**  
  
He shut off his phone and left to clean the bullets. Almost incessantly, his phone vibrated in his back pocket. Frustrated, he opened it again.  
  
**@coding_green: Exactly right. I'm an assassin, and hacker. I thought that was relatively obvious. Too bad, I've met another person with a thick skull and no intelligence. I'll keep looking.**  
  
**@no_one's_home: Wait. Hold on, why are you using this messenger app? How did you get this? Its firewalls are way too powerful to let even a master hacker in!**  
  
Alfred was frustrated, combing through his hair with trembling fingers.  
  
**@coding_green: Well, maybe not a master. A god.**  
  
Then his phone lit up with an undertone of green, symbols dashing across his screen. Alfred yelped and dropped it on the floor, the protective casing doing its job.  
  
**I DO HOPE WE MEET AGAIN. SEE ME AT THE SQUARE. I WILL BE WAITING.**  
  
The screen went dark. Off. He plucked it up in his hands, squinting. The square. Hmm.  
  
_Who the hell..?_

Alfred set his phone aside, taking a few deep, lungfulls of air before standing. The sound of a door in need of some WD-40 split the air. Alfred tensed. 

"Alfie? What's going on...?" 

He spun to see a young man, the same as himself. His white-blonde hair was messy as if he just awoke from sleep, and one part stuck out; it was longer and more curly than the rest. The man standing in the doorway was the person he cherished most--his twin brother, Matthew. Their parents had gotten a divorce a long while ago, when they were children, and Matthew took their father's last name. Williams. 

Alfred always had disliked his father. Matthew often teased him a bit for being a "mama's boy", but it never fazed him. Even now, Matthew has never forgotten. 

Their father had taken Matthew with them up to Vancouver to live with his girlfriend. Alfred had stayed home, painfully aware of his brother's conditions. When he was sick, so was Alfred. Every time Matthew scraped his knees, they would always ache in likeness to his twin brother's pain. 

Alfred gave Matthew a small, nervous smile. "Hey, Matt. I just got this weird message on our messenger."

Matthew yawned and left his bedroom, sitting beside him. He was wearing embarrassingly Canadian pajamas. "Really? I thought I had put up strong firewalls."

"Well, I'm guessing that you didn't put enough. Someone got in. Their user was @coding_green...think you can trace the IP?"

"I'm not sure. A hacker of that capability will be hard to crack. It'll take some time. What did they say?" Matthew asked tentatively, taking the phone silently. 

Alfred didn't notice or he didn't care. "They said to meet them at the square. I'm thinking tonight, maybe?"

His phone chimed with another message notification that he didn't bother to look at. They both understood. 

"Tonight it is," Matthew muttered dejectedly. "Pull on your Limelight gear and I'll situate myself on the coms. Don't forget your headpiece this time."

Alfred caught the earpiece that was tossed at him and left to put on his all-black combat suit, which he had called his Limelight gear. No one quite knew why. Perhaps because he was eating limes at the time?

The American, after getting dressed, gave one last check behind his shoulder. "Everything in order, Matt?"

"Roger that," Matthew said through the earpiece. 

"Excellent. Toss me my pistols?"

Matthew rolled out of his bedroom in those awesome swivel chairs and threw Alfred's pistols to him. He caught them with some effort and shut the apartment door behind him. 

"Good luck, Al. Don't get yourself killed with this green guy."


End file.
